Walking With Sorrow
by Kiamirei
Summary: Finding marriage to be much harder than they previously thought, Wufei and Meiran try to sort out their emotions while attempting to deal with the pain and misunderstanding that has become a part of their everyday lives.


Walking With Sorrow  
  
By: Kiamirei  
  
  
  
~I don't own Gundam Wing.  
  
  
  
Meiran finished drying her raven hair and looked at her reflection in the mirror, which still had fog on it. Her eyes were still a little red from crying, but she could not stay in the bathroom any longer or Wufei would get annoyed. Briefly, she wondered why she even bothered being courteous to him, since he never returned the favor, but put the question out of her mind before she could start crying again. The girl hoped her husband would not notice her disheveled appearance, even after washing, as she exited the hot room. There were not many things that she could hide from him, though.  
  
"What's wrong with your eyes?" he asked, as she had expected that he would. The inquiry was only to be polite, she knew; in actuality, he could not care less.  
  
"I got shampoo in them," she lied, her tone of voice cold.  
  
He shrugged and walked into the bathroom as Meiran went downstairs and into the kitchen to make breakfast. It was a Saturday, so there was no rush to get the food made, and she took her time preparing it. She rubbed at her eyes, ashamed that she had cried that morning.  
  
Damn it, she thought angrily. Why am I so weak? No wonder he has no respect for me -that and the fact that he's an arrogant, misogynistic bastard. I hate him.  
  
But that was not right, and the girl knew it. It was true that she despised the boy, but underneath all the anger and bitterness that the two of them harbored, she knew that she cared about him very much, no matter how little he deserved it. Maybe she even loved him. As loath as she was to admit it, she admired him for his strength and intelligence, and the way that when he saw others in any need –except for her, of course- no matter how slight, he would go out of his way to help them, even as he scolded them for any weakness they might have. Wufei could be very contradictory that way; the things he said were often times much more harsh than his actual actions. It was as if his lack of sympathy was reserved solely for himself and for her.  
  
That was what motivated her to refrain from punching his face when he treated her in a way that was worse than the way that anyone had ever dared to do, or when his rudeness and scorn got to be too much to bear. It was the reason why she made his meals, cleaned his clothes, and did the housework when she would much rather be sparring with someone. This was despite the fact that he was self-centered, narrow-minded, and unreceptive to any ideas that were not his own. But he returned no such admiration, which was why she cried when he could not see her, and why she felt her heart was being torn in two Why had her parents forced her to marry someone who hated her? It was a fate she felt was unfair and cruel. She now looked back on her childhood dreams of married life with a mixture of remorse, scorn, and embarrassment.  
  
* * * *  
  
"The rice is a little dry," Wufei remarked idly as they ate the meal Meiran had just finished making. He squinted as the rising sun shone in his eyes, waiting for her reply.  
  
"Don't complain unless you're offering to cook from now on."  
  
"Cooking is women's work. Besides, you complained about the roof, even though you didn't help me fix it."  
  
"If cooking is women's work, then repairing the house is man's work."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Speaking of which, the wood around the windows isn't in good condition."  
  
"So you fix it."  
  
"Oh, but then other people would see me doing man's work. You wouldn't want that, now would you? It would make you look bad," she replied sweetly.  
  
"Who cares what other people think?"  
  
"If you feel that way, then why don't you want me sparring? You're contradicting yourself, Wufei."  
  
"Because your place is at the house." He did not truly believe this, but it was the only thing he could think of to say.  
  
"My place is defending our people. I am Nataku, after all."  
  
"You aren't Nataku. You're just a childish girl playing at being a warrior, when in reality both your skill and your morals are weak." It was a low blow, and he knew it. Nor was it entirely correct.  
  
"And you're an insecure boy who needs to boost his own self-esteem by attempting to control his wife. You're not happy unless you can prove you're better than other people." This was a lie, she felt, but it fit the situation perfectly, and as long as he was having no qualms offending her, she would have none in doing the same to him.  
  
* * * *  
  
Why does it always have to be this way? Wufei asked himself as he performed a kata. We sit there in silence until one of us insults the other, we have a brief argument, and then we're silent again. But it would help if she at least pretended that she didn't detest me. Neither of us wanted this, but we're going to be married for the rest of our lives. We should at least try to get along. Anything else is weak.  
  
She was so aggravating at times, though! It was always, "Hey, Wufei, when are you fixing the house?" or, "Wufei, don't be such a pig!" Or, "Wufei, come eat right now or I'm throwing your meal away!" Never mind the fact that she always made dinner right in the middle of his meditation, or other equally bad times. She was a bitch sometimes, too, and could be vain. The girl would boast about her strength, challenge him to a fight, and then hate him when he won. It was not his fault he had been training longer and harder than she had, and it was wrong of her to blame him for it. Meiran could never understand him. She made him feel like he would never be good enough, like he could never provide a good enough home for her, and could never, ever make her happy. He wondered why he bothered working to make sure they had enough food, and to ensure that they had good finances, and why he bothered to make repairs on the house or to give her money to buy the clothes she wanted. It was not as if she treated him well in the first place. Meiran hated him.  
  
"Damn you," he said under his breath. "Know what, woman? I loathe you, too."  
  
But that was not entirely true; on this matter, at least, he could be no less than honest. He cared about his wife, despite the fact that he kept this knowledge to himself, locked away in the deepest parts of his heart, which he showed to no one. Wufei liked the way she laughed with her friends; it was an uplifting sound, and always made him a little happier. He liked the way that her rare smiles transformed her face into something gorgeous, and the way that even though she insisted on using the bathroom first in the mornings she always put toothpaste on his toothbrush and set out a washcloth for him –folded in a perfect square, of course. He liked the way that she refused to give up, and always avenged her friends when someone treated them badly. He liked her honor; Meiran's word alone was more binding than the strongest chains could ever be. She had vowed to defeat him one day, and he had no doubt that she would. The line between love and hate was truly blurred, and it hurt. What had his elders been thinking? There was no justice in this. In the end, though, did justice really matter all that much? Integrity was his wife's gig; all that he truly valued in life was strength and knowledge.  
  
* * * *  
  
The sun had set already, and it was getting late while dinner was getting cold. And where, Meiran asked herself, was her damned husband? Practicing his swordsmanship out on the lawn in the pouring rain, of course. The meal was ready, so where else would he be?  
  
"Wufei," she called out from the porch, "dinner's ready."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
She told herself she should have expected that, since it was his reply most days of the week, and that she should keep calm.  
  
"Come eat."  
  
"I'm not hungry, and I'm busy. You eat."  
  
The girl felt tears –only partially caused by frustration- coming to her eyes, an occurrence that happened much too often these days.  
  
"Wufei Chang, you get in here and eat your dinner!" If she was firm, he would not notice that she was hurt by his callous behavior.  
  
"Dammit, Meiran, I said I'm not hungry!"  
  
"Get in there!" she cried, storming up to him with one hand gesturing towards the kitchen. "you do this every day, and I'm sick and tired of it!"  
  
"Why can't you get it through your head? I don't want to eat!" Why did the girl always have to choose this particular time to make her meals? "You know that I'm busy this time of day! You can eat now, and I'll eat an apple or something when I come in!"  
  
The tears fell now, hidden by the rain.  
  
"I spent the entire afternoon working on this meal!" she screamed at him.  
  
"That's too bad," he shouted back, "because I don't want it!"  
  
Meiran stood there looking at him for a moment. Then, with a frustrated snarl, she flung the spoon she had been brandishing at him and stormed back towards the house. She did not stop while inside of it, however, and continued straight out the front door. There was no way she was going to be there when he decided to go inside. Their little display had been childish, but it was still true that the last thing she would allow herself to do was to be there when he came in, like the complacent, repentant wife he expected her to be. She would not endure the arrogant smile that would undoubtedly be on his face, or the way that his silence would continually mock her.  
  
She was leaving because he would not come and eat dinner. Realizing this shamed her, because she knew that it was weak and immature. But then again, this was not the central issue; their anger revolved around much bigger things. The fact was that they simply could not get along. Their elders offered no help whatsoever, and this made things worse. Meiran did not know how to communicate to her husband how she really felt, and he, of course, could not read her mind. Sometimes she thought that her life would be so much easier if she just told him about all of her emotions, insecurities, and broken dreams. The outcome would not necessarily be a favorable one, but at least she would have had confrontation. But no, she could never do that; he would either laugh in her face or scorn what she said. Instead, she was stuck bottling everything up, leaving only her anger on the outside. It hurt.  
  
And so it is that I walk with sorrow, she thought to herself. I hide behind my mask, but the pain makes it ever more fragile.  
  
* * * *  
  
Wufei was sitting on the couch of their living room, attempting to read a book. But he found that he couldn't concentrate, no matter how hard he tried. Finally, he gave up and flung the book across the room. His wife had not been home for four days, and the boy found that he was worried about her. She had left the house for extended amounts of time before, of course, but those times had only been for a few hours, a day and a half at most. Was she hurt? That was a ridiculous question, of course. Meiran would never let anyone harm her, and her skill was such that aside from Wufei, no one could defeat her. But still, he could not help worrying. She was his wife, after all. What if someone had kidnapped her? Or what if she had broken a leg, and was lying in a ditch somewhere? Maybe she had gotten lost. And what if some bastard had stolen her money, and she was stranded somewhere? He forced himself to stop thinking about such things. It was no use worrying about matters that he could do nothing about. Besides, if the girl could see him now and know his thoughts, she would ridicule him for being weak. If nothing else, Meiran was adamant about her ideals. Still, Wufei wished that he could simply tell her everything; living like this was starting to make his soul feel old, and his body weary.  
  
The boy went into the dining room, where his art supplies were. He decided that charcoal would be his media, and the paper would be gray. After getting the paper, charcoal, and an eraser, he sat down at the table. An image came to his mind without him having to think about it, and before long, he was losing himself in the picture that was forming. Art was another one of his escapes, another means of controlling unwanted emotions. He was drawing a landscape, filled with decaying trees and a river of obsidian. Certainly, it was not the most uplifting piece of work he had done. However, by the time he had finished two hours later, his mind was calm again. It was fine to follow one's emotions, but controlling how much emotion one showed was just as important sometimes.  
  
Meiran would come back eventually. When she did, after imperceptibly making sure that she was safe, he would give her a piece of his mind. She would not enjoy that one bit, he was certain.  
  
* * * *  
  
There was a cliff not far from her house, overlooking an uninhabited valley. She liked to go there whenever she was troubled and simply stare at the endless expanse of green, which was seemingly untainted by humanity's existence. Beyond that, mountains reached towards the sky, their faces left alone by the tiny colonists. Of course, in the back of her head the acknowledged the fact that she was on a colony, and it was mortal hands, not the will of some god, which had created the landscape that she so cherished. Not even the infinitely blue sky was real. But she liked it anyway. It was, after all, better than looking out at the void of space. Meiran had promised herself long ago that she would go to the Earth as soon as her duties to her people had been fulfilled –that is, as soon as justice was truly and finally served. It was still her job to fight, but once that was over, or once she was unfit to pilot, she would be free to go where she wished. If Wufei agreed.  
  
That thought brought her mind back to her problems, and she forced them out of her head again. She was not here to dwell on her unhappiness; she had come here to meditate on the beauty of this place. But it was true that she had not eaten in four days, and had only a little water left in the sixteen ounce bottle she had brought the night she had left her home. It was also true that no matter how much she was dreading it, she would eventually have to return to Wufei. The girl got up slowly, taking one last glance at the expanse of man-made nature in front of her, and turned to the road leading back to civilization. She wondered whether her husband had bothered to clean up the dinner she had left sitting on the table.  
  
* * * *  
  
It was late at night when the door to the house opened. Wufei got up off of the couch as he heard the doorknob turn, expecting a thief, or some other stranger. However, the figure that stepped into the living room was neither of those things: it was Meiran. He watched her walk up to their bedroom in silence.  
  
* * * *  
  
Meiran changed into her pajamas, more depressed than she had been before she left. She brushed her hair and teeth, washed her face, and walked over to the bedside table. Opening the drawer, she took out a small painting. It was a picture of a meadow in the springtime, with fluffy, white clouds and a gorgeous azure sky. Pink and white flowers popped up among the grass, and a few birds were flying overhead. She smiled at it, eyes filling with tears. Wufei had painted this for her, a few days after their wedding, just before all of their marital problems had started. He had forgotten about it, she supposed, but she would keep it safe. Slowly she climbed into the bed, after replacing the painting into its drawer, and turned off of the light.  
  
Several hours later, Wufei stepped into the dark bedroom, careful not to wake his wife. He changed, washed, and got into the bed. Then he watched her for an hour, to be sure that she was asleep, before gently placing a kiss on her cheek. She stirred, but did not wake, and they slept soundly until the morning. 


End file.
